


The Fragments of my Heart Bind to me my Soul

by Talonpoppy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: . . . yet, Amnesia, Dream Sequences, F/F, I saw him too, I think that's the wrong person to quote here. . ., No I haven't run out of ways to describe blue, Stubborn Amari is stubborn, The shadows move, Well somethings rather wrong here, What do you mean by "shadowy exposition?", a wild genetist appears, and creepy as hell, cloak and dagger, you haven't lost it, zenyatta being both inspirational
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talonpoppy/pseuds/Talonpoppy
Summary: Angela Ziegler and Fareeha Amari find themselves in a hospital, heavily injuried and with little memory of the past few days. Their only clue is each other and the strange markings that they find burned onto their bodies.





	1. Loosing yourself, to the presant, unable to find the past

The gentle beep woke her, driven by a low metallic thrum as the machines lights splashed their gaze over her sleep worn eyes. Where was she? A good question, one that her normally sharp and attentive mind seemed to be unable to answer as it sputtered in an effort to even recall who she was.  
Ziegler. Angela Ziegler, her mind tells her slowly, as if talking to a small child. Though that still left where open for debate. She eases her body into the stiff cot, her attention on the methodic beep that the monitors provided. Answers will come in time, she assures herself.

 

She isn’t certain how long she lay there, listening to the slow beep of the monitor that observed her heart beat. But she could tell you of how long she felt the pain,a hollow aching in her right arm that she was unable to move. The limb is covered in a thick plaster to keep it stationary, a technique she’d barely seen used in recent years. Yet the pain wasn’t to the arm alone, her muscles were tight and her flesh felt bruised, but no lacerations or scabbing where in her sights.

“Ah. Dr.Ziegler, I see that you’re finally awake.” A light young male’s voice breaks through the woman’s cluttered mind. It’s rings over the machines in a gentle perky chirp of a tenor, “We thought we'd have lost you during the transport.” Her eyes move to the man, but refused to focus, leaving her to stare at the blurred shape standing at the foot of her cot. 

“Transport?” Angela’s eyebrows cluster together as she hears her voice, it’s soft and rough, barely escaping her throat to become an audible sentence. 

“Oh.” The man moves his hands to a blurred brown shape, which Angela can only assume, is a clipboard. “You may be experiencing some short term memory loss Dr.Ziegler, you were in an accident.”

An accident? Shapes move through the woman’s mind, blurred, obscured, dancing in a dizzy fuzz that consumes her for a moment, but only just.

“Dr.Ziegler?” She’s pulled back to reality, the soft timbre of his voice bringing the woman away from her mental void.

“Yes?” A tortured voice just barely manages the words, as the man scribbles a few more notes down on the small rectangular shape.

“How are yo-” The man’s words are broken off as a large crash echoes in the distance. 

“I’ve answered your questions. Tell me where my team is and where the bloody hell I am.” A stern, powerful alto tone controls the air with the question. 

“Ms.Amari. Please you’re in no state to stand, if you would-” 

“Sir. Please, in all sincerity, I could care less about if I’m able or not, I asked a question, would you mind answering it, as I have done to your own?” Their voice is calm, somewhat rugged and a bit raspy; it’s not raised in the slightest, but it seemed to pull in all sound to it, giving the illusion of them being right outside.

“My apologies, I must go see to that.” The doctor mumbles smoothly as Angela hears a low click and rush of cold liquid pushes sluggishly into the IV stuck to her arm. A soft ringing noise floats into her ears as the sweet blanket of darkness once again consumes her.

\---------  
The woman stares at the small gathering of doctors and whatever else wears a lab coat in a sterile setting. She’s situated in a stuborn stance, that is a bit between kneeling and attempting her best to not fall onto the floor; like the tray she’d accidently knocked to it moments before. 

Who is a good question, why is a better one to ask, where, may be a little off, but by the gods she was fed up with this cloak and dagger of the last few bloody days. That same strange blank presence that filled her mind whenever she wished to recall anything in days prior to her waking up here. What the hell happened after they left for that mission?   
The woman shakes her head once more, the same cloud obscuring her thoughts, as if it could sense her attempting to even slightly recall the missing days or how the hell she’d ended up with a tight plasture substance wrapped around her wrist and gods know how many stitches or bruises that littered her body like a primary school’s crafts project.

“Ms. . .Ms. Amari. . .please. . . ” the nurse, or at least she’s assumed to be by how her desperate head swivels towards the gathering shapes, as if they’d offer some miracle solution to the unruly patient, pleads in a tired tone.

“Where. Is. My. Team?” The woman’s voice cracks slightly, the effort to even be heard was a burden, especially in her state, but it would not stop her. Those men had families, if she could-

“I’m afraid they’re deceased Captain Amari.”

The woman’s throat goes dry as what little strength she has left ebs away, making her sink gracelessly to the floor. Deceased? How? Why? 

The questions throw themselves at the woman but find themselves smashing up against that damned wall. What’s going on? How did this all happen?

The words flick at the edge of her tongue, she wants to say them, scream them if she must, but a soft prick on her shoulder brings her slumping heavily onto the cold tiled floor.  
“Was sedation necessary?” The words come warmly into her ears as she slowly finds herself in a tense objective state. Trying her best to will her body to stay awake, to ask the questions she so longingly wanted. No. Needed answers for, but the chemicals worked much more efficiently than her will, pulling her down.

“I’m not taking chances. . .it’s a miracle either of them are alive” 

The words of an unnamed speaker float lucidly into the woman’s mind, heard, and yet, as she falls into darknesses open arms, distantly forgotten.

\------  
 _“A miracle indeed.”_

Two shadows creep along the walls of the twin rooms, staring distantly at the wounded women. Each are a mimicking darkened depictions of their double, cast only there by the light of the monitors that kept track of their charges. Not that they were too worried about either passing along in the night.

_“What strange world it has come to.”_ One of the shadows speaks in a smooth gentle tone, one that someone could easily mistaken for a lullaby, no matter the words spoken. _“That we’d share the same company, let alone the strings of fate.”_

**“A summoning is only a means to an end trickster.”** The other shadow responds it’s tone is strong, but also hollow, commanding, and yet it’s distant enough to feel as if you went unheard.   
_“A means to an end?”_ The voice chuckles darkly, _“I rarely find myself tethered to a mortal. Let alone one without a contract.”_  
The other shadow seems to nod in agreement with the first’s words, **“bound to a mortal’s soul. A magicks I have bared witness to not since the times when gods more openly mingled upon this plain.”**  
 _“Bound?”_ The other shadow seems to be contemplating the other’s statement.   
**“Aye.”** The velvet voiced shadow shakes it’s head, **“but there’s a reason to why these practices were lost.”**  
Light presses through the being’s words as both rooms are illuminated by nurse's coming in to check on each charge. Vanquishing the two back to their host’s sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya and thanks for the read! I honestly do hope you enjoyed this and choose to leave a comment! If not that's cool as well! 
> 
> Somethings that will be cleared up later with my attempt at not spoiling too much until we get to that point -  
> \- Angela and Fareeha don't formally know each other. Yes, Angela did visit OW when she was younger, but she barley got to meet Fareeha, let alone get to know her.  
> \- Both look like a car hit them '^'


	2. As we heal, our troubles come from what we've lost

She wakes from her dreams in a shocked fashion. Her body moving only with a soft jolt, it’s subconscious knowledge of her physical shape spoke far louder than the fight or flight temptations that attempted to scream life into her muscles. 

But what had it been about? A vague idea of fire swims subtly in her mind, but is consumed all too quickly by the static fuzz that polices her thoughts. 

She felt better, or at least more tolerant of her wounds, enough to warrant her pushing up her torso up on the small pile of stacked pillows. Sight came to her more clearly now. The familiar, almost soothing colors of white washed walls greet her, casting the faint reflections of greens and blues from the machines that monitored her vitals.   
Her movement appeared to catch the eye of a nearby nurse, who turns to look at her curiously, before reaching towards a small object that gives a muffled buzz. Probably calling, to her best assumption, a doctor. 

Good, she thinks cooly, maybe some answers will come to light. 

_But are they the ones you truly wish to hear?_

The woman jerks at the strange thought, it’s soft melodic ring echoes strangely in her mind. It felt foreign, as if placed there by another force, but yet her own all in the same. 

“Dr.Ziegler, I apologise for yesterday's interruptions.” That same calm tenor brings Angela away from her contemplation of thoughts as the doctor from the day prior greets her with a warm practiced smile.

She knows that smile, the hidden proclamation of darker truths, shielded only by the riddle of what question was the right one to ask. 

But which one?

“I can assume you have many questions.” The doctor begins, breaking the fragile focus the woman had laid claim to. “And I assure you, they will come in time, but I’m afraid we don’t have many answers, and are particularly curious to if you had any recollection of the events that. . . occurred.”

The words tumble from the man’s mouth, but Angela has a hard time translating them to her thoughts, she can’t seem to pull herself away from the tight lie that spoke behind the man’s grin. 

The riddle, she couldn’t answer. The question that escaped her, the wounds that bound her, memories blocked and just beyond her reach. 

“Dr.Ziegler?” 

She closes her eyes, leaning back into the pillows, clawing desperately for a progressive train of thought. But nothing comes, only just a crash of frustrations and mindless banter.

“Nothing.” 

The words escape her lips, barely noted by her mind, as they fall lifelessly into existence.

“I see.” 

She can hear his disappointment, while hidden well behind that same lying grin, it tested itself simply in the twitch of his eye. But it slowly fades as the man begins to work in a normal proceeding for the rest of his visit, asking simple routine questions, taking small blood samples with the aid of a nurse, and noting her vitals all along the way.   
The familiar methodic rhythm of it all soothes her, as her body, to the best of it’s ability, relaxes into the simple cot. Her mind wanders as the frantic rush of ideas and questions subside. Where am I? The nostalgic question pulls to her thoughts once more, a hospital, but where?

She lines the words up on her tongue, readying herself, and yet the words never find her, the sound that vibrates from her chest go against the idea she had placed, foreign, unwanted. Yet as they left her lips, she felt strongly as if . . .she needed them.

“Who caused the commotion yesterday?”

The lie falters, the smile breaks, the right question. 

The man recovers with a cough, the lie returns, but the ignorance that held the strings has fallen limp. The troubles made apparent by the worried glance of his eyes.   
“Just another patient. We get many from war zones in this area. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re undergoing some shock to their situation.” A tighter more stubborn grin finishes his words.

_Why lie?_

There is a shift in the shadows beside the doctor, a faint flick that caused a strange sensation to pass over Angela. Her heart flutters painfully against her cheat, as a soothing chill drips through her veins.

_Why lie?_

The calm tone settles itself into her thoughts as breath gradually becomes harder to come by, like something was almost trying to push it away. Push her away. 

But all at once, it stops. 

The doctor looks no more concerned or moved; his hand moving just as steadily along the board as he finishes his work. The machines betray nothing of the event, keeping that same steady pace as if it had never occurred.

Had she imagined it? She moves her hand slowly to her chest pulling the thin hospital gown’s fabric into her gradually closing fist. 

_No. . ._

“Well, Dr.Ziegler.” The man chimes in a hollow tone, the woman only lends him a dazed eye, “it looks like you’re on the road to recovery. I’ll send in a nurse to check up on you in a few hours.” 

The woman looks after the man, her jaw clenched shut, he spoke half truths to questions, more riddles, hidden in white lies. For now she’d get nowhere with him, she realizes bitterly, but maybe with time? 

The woman leans her head back into the pillows, eyes already heavy. Exhaustion singing from her wounds, and muddling thoughts. It didn’t take much to allow the doctor to pass into a soon to be forgotten rest.

\-- - - - --

Fareeha tugs in a testing manner on the soft padded bands they’d placed on her in an attempt to stop her consistent trials of trying to leave the bed and move around on legs not yet suitable to carry her weight. 

Could they blame her? She was going mad just having to sit in a bed all day. Her team is dead, her mission, whatever it was, assumably failed, and now she’s restrained to a hospital cot until gods know when. 

She wanted answers. But they constantly kept avoiding them like a gun was to their heads. What could they be hiding? Why do they have to hide behind those blasted boards and smiles so fake you could practically see the paint dripping from them.

Fareeha's train of thought is broken by an unfortunately all too familiar footstep; she turns her head to glare at the doctor as he walks into the room. His smug swagger had annoyed her since she's truly gotten her mind to at least halfway function, and it only got worse with time.

“I see you’re awake Ms.Amari.”

“Regrettably.” The woman mumbles as the man begins the routine pokes and prods. 

“You know, we could remove the bands if you’d just stop trying to move about without assistance so much?”

“I can walk just fine.” She grumbles, knowing the obvious lie from the amount of times she’d had a thorough inspection on how well the janitorial staff worked.   
The man, not much to her surprise, ignores the off handed comment, continuing with the less verbal part of the checkup. But all too soon did he run out of ways to poke her to check how she was recovering.

“How are you feeling Ms.Amari?”

He finally questions, his tone sounded a bit defeated, this woman had become less and less. . .agreeable in the days following her first outburst. Fareeha tilts her head away from the man clearly uninterested in giving the doctor an answer, obviously awaiting for her terms to be met.

He sighs pushing his hand through his scruffy brown hair, giving into his gradually building frustration. 

“Soldiers the lot of them,” he grumbles as he shoves the wooden clipboard into the sleeve just outside the woman’s room. Fareeha grins, the winner of the games again, now if only the prize wasn’t being one step from practically being tied to this bloody bed.

\-- - - - --  
 _“You said something that rather intrigued me the last we spoke.”_

Darkness once more painted the halls of the sleepy ward, broken only by the gentle sway of lights that pulse in a harmonious beat to the bodies that rest beside them.  
Once more the strangers of shadows, the obscured blackened illusions, pace around the walls of their sleeping wards.

**“Might you remind me? I spoke of many things.”**

The lullabic voice giggles at the other’s response, _“You must be one of action to say you spoke of many things.”_

**“You mistake circumstance with action, your question trickster?”**

_“Ah yes.”_

The voice begins, as if it had lost itself and in it, the initial question, _“You spoke of these practices. . .of binding one’s self to a mortals soul. As being lost for a reason. I’m afraid I came to exist when those practices had been all but lost.”_

A long moment of silence passes between the two as the question is left to float in the air, waiting patiently to be answered.  
 **“And lost they should have stayed.”** The shadow slouches slightly it’s head turned in a way that would suggest that it was watching it’s charge with non-existent eyes. **“The most basic ritual, ones of blessings, of great honors, they summon us to the plain by the use of a sacrifice that is found wanting in our needs.”**

**“The greater the blessing requested, the greater the sacrifice. Though that can waver from those who are called for this blessing.”**

The shadow moves closer to their charge, their dark hand sliding weightlessly over their bruised bronze skin, resting on an uneven scar obscured by clothing, but there nonetheless. It held meaning, however crude it may appear to a mortal eye, power over both sides, all just in a few simple fractured shapes.

**“But that is just a blessing.”**

The woman cringes in her sleep as the scar resonates a soft, haunting light of molten gold.

**“When one is bound to a mortal, they are indeed trapped, merged with their charge.”**

The light cracks off from the mark, moving gently around the woman’s body, surging like a small tide as damaged flesh pulls itself together to mask the gentle glow below.

**“Your magic, strength, abilities, all tools that they can amuse themselves with.”**

_“Sounds like quite the deal, surprised it was lost.”_

**“All deals come with a price Trickster.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two will be up and moving in the next chapter I promise '^', thank you again for giving this a read! Sorry that I'm about as much cloak and dagger in this chapter as the doctors '^ '; just getting some things set up before I begin to move the plot foward.  
> If you guys have any questions, concerns, or just general thoughts over the piece at all, don't be afraid to leave a comment! Thanks for your time, hopefully I'll have chapter 3 done sometime soon!


	3. Allies comes from the truths behind the lies

_“A Price?”_

The shadow looms over their charge, an air of mischief lent to their voice. The words were familiar to the being, an almost calming change to the rather peculiar situation they had found themselves in.

**“Correct.”** The velvet toned shadow mumbles, partially distracted by the focus they held on their own ward. 

**“Beyond the ritual, which in itself is an extravagant cost of life. Those who find their souls bound to an entity summoned will find themselves changed.”**

_“Changed?”_ The Trickster questions, their darkened form twisting against the dull lights in the room.

**“Many are consumed. Minds far too easily manipulated, unable to fight against another. They, may go mad, find a way to destroy themselves in a matter of days upon the binding. Or they become beasts, loyal pets to any creature that the beast submits to.”**

The shadow steps back their charge, who's already gradually calming their pained breaths. It slips back against the wall, the dark voids of their gaze observing the unconscious woman.

**“Others can mentally adapt to beings like us, but their bodies may be unable to handle what they’ve become. They too will falter just the same. Be it to days or even years after they found themselves bound.”**

_“So what you’re saying is they’re ticking time bombs?”_ The voice sounded almost disappointed as they cast their gaze to the sleeping woman beside them.

**“Not always.”** There's almost a sense of amusement resonating from the shadow's words. **“There are reasons behind myths, sons and daughters of “gods”, who walked among mortal men.”**

_“And how are we to know that these two won’t go mad?”_ The trickster inquires halfheartedly.

A gentle bemused chuckle takes the place of the trickster’s question. **“How are we indeed? The two know not what they are destined to become, just as we know not the fates that have yet to take their place. We know only but what were. A frustrating dilemma no?”**

The trickster ticks, if it could express a frown would be lingering on it's lips. This female was frustratingly stubborn, and sickeningly pacifistic.

_“What of the price? It seems more benifactual to the host.”_

**“Time consumes. They all bend to us in the end. No matter the strength, no host can resist our true callings.”**

The Trickster sighs casting another glance at their sleeping charge, a minor flare of frustration clipping at the edge of their voice, _“Time consumes as you say, yet is it not a clock we work against?”_ a soft chirp accents the shadows words as they lean down and brush the charred scarred skin that's settles in the dead center of her shoulder blades. 

Tracing the runes that bound them to her, a soft magenta glow follows the motion, pushing away the charges breath as the Trickster pulls their hand away, the magicks already seeping down below into the woman’s flesh.   
It was less graceful than their velvet toned companion, spreading like a plague of darkened veins, shifting through their hosts body in an almost sickly motion as it mended their fractured form. 

_“Well if time must tick away for the inevitable, I'd rather it not be in such a lifeless place.”_  
\-- - - - --

Fareeha gasps in air, her unconscious state broke in a frantic tide of colors and shapes she could barely place as they ebbed from her mind.   
Strange. 

The woman is no stranger to night terrors, years of active service and countless battles had made her quite acquainted with the plagued sleepless nights of vivid memories to pasts she could only wish to forget.

Yet, as she closes her eyes and leans back into the medical cot, the unsettling twinge of the abnormality to it slowly begins to eat away at her.

She can easily call forth a vague memory of a sleepless night in past; the dark flashes of gun fire, the meticulous tick ringing in her ears as the vague taste of blood rolled cautiously across her tongue. It needed little provocation to consume her and she’d wake to a cold sweat at any point, pains of emotional value crushing her.

The woman opens her eyes, shoving away the cruel memories that sleep had turned to fantasies at a point she cared little to debate towards. She feels the darkening sense of paranoia pressing deep within her chest. 

Why couldn’t she recall what woke her? 

Being unable to recall what caused her to awaken to such a panicked and frantic state chipped at her mind, allowing the sense of unease to settle even further in the hollow space it’d created.

How could she find answers, if she could not even rely on herself? Her breath rumbles half heartedly as a sigh resonates softly from her chest, that frustratingly familiar void pecks at what little space the unease had yet to claim, constricting her thoughts to that static buzz.

Shifting through her troubled mind, her gaze wanders along the lifeless walls, who’s only pulse of life was the glow of machines that beeped away mindlessly, and settles on the rough textured finish that has a vague illusion of personality.

The action holds no true value, no strategic purpose, no clues or answers to the puzzle that these dam coats refuse to address, nor of the maze her mind has become. It’s just another way to waste time, for recovery. . .from who knows what. 

The woman clenches her fist in frustration. She felt fine, better than she had since she’d first woken up to this white mess. The aches and pains were almost nonexistent at this point, even the fatigue that plagued her in days past was only a soft whisper. If they’d only listen she’d show them that-

**“Are the bands truly what restrain you?”**

Who-

Fareeha coughs as her heart jerks painfully, pressing the air away from her lungs as her vision grows hazy and the room blurs around her; objects fuzz in and out of a nauseous void of colors and sounds. 

The voice, echoes in her mind, holding a gentle, almost soothing tone, yet it’s presence was almost like a commanding force that simply struck itself through the air.   
Her heart throbs again; it’s pace slowly begins to rise in an almost panicked fashion. 

Something . . .someone is here, but where? Why did it thrust her into this. . .panic? What could. . .she was in no battle field. . .why did she feel so uneased?

The woman presses herself up, searching desperately, for the source, barely even noticing the straps that press unevenly upon her form. But nothing strikes her attention. . . even as her eyes come back to focus, there is no one there. . .

Am . . I . . hallucinating? She wonders. Could the doctors- . . She scoffs falling back onto the bed with a frustrated huff, could she be experiencing terrors? Recalling items from memories that she had yet to remember? 

“Can’t even trust myself” She mumbles once more, the frustration growing. Her body knew what had happened, even making up things. . .voices. . .that weren’t even there. . .of things she couldn’t even begin to recall.

How positively annoying, almost as much as the doctors who refused to answer even her most basic questions.

 

“Rather rambunctious today . . . Ms.Amari?”

Fareeha tilts her head up at the gentle tick of wood being lifted from a plastic container. The voice was different, softer, light, someone. . new? Nurse? Maybe Dr.whatshisname finally took some time off. Be the first good thing to happen all week.

“I’m positively tied up with excitement.” 

She states dryly, tugging once more at the bands that bind her to the bed. 

“Mmm. Says here you’ve been quite the nightmare, 5 fractured ribs, legs completely shattered, several ruptured organs, punctured lung, 36 stitches, and slight memory loss.”  
Fareeha hears the clunk of the clipboard being placed back into it’s crude plastic slot. “And you’re still trying to crawl out of this place be it on some very damaged knees.”  
There’s sarcasm in the woman’s voice, tinted with a familiar edge of warning that most medical staff normally had when dealing with the Amari.

A strained pause passes between the two before Fareeha clears her throat, “Think you’re the first to actually tell me what I even broke.”

“Hmm. Strange, would’ve thought they’d bring you up to date on your health.” The doctor pases briefly into the woman’s view, she catches only a glimpse of short red hair and what looked to be two very different colored eyes. 

“It appears Dr.Ziegler’s work stands up to it’s reputation.” A soft release of pressure and rough noise of metal clicking down, flicks Fareeha’s focus away from the woman’s features and towards the loosened straps.

“We’ve been analysing you and the other patient’s recovery since you were admitted. And while the nanites in both your systems have seemingly repaired the damage on the both of you at a speed I’ve yet to see replicated by any other study or observational records. We’d still like to keep you here for a few more days for observation and relapse prevention, if such a thing occurs.”

Fareeha rubs her arms as she gingerly props herself up onto the pillows behind her. Her visions focus waved in and out, seemingly matching the woman’s train of thought. Dr.Ziegler? Why did that name sound so familiar? 

Nanite recovery, she’d heard of it before, but rarely had it applied in any of her missions. The technology was still considered revolutionary, which to a person like her meant, expensive and out of reach. Though from the laundry list of problems the doctor had just read off, she could easily see why it would be considered as such.  
“Who are they? The other patient?”

The captain finds her mouth moving before her brain has time to process that she’d even begun to speak. There’s a small clicking sound from the doctor as she plays with her pen.

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that sort of information, privacy reasons and such.”

“I see.” Fareeha sighs, another dead end. Someone who’d give her nothing, but ask the world of her. Least she’d be released in a few days, but. . .she didn’t even know where she was. Mr doctor of the year wasn’t going to disclose such information to an uncooperative patient.

The woman looks up at the sound of a rough chuckle, the doctor of mismatched eyes gives her a unnerving grin.

“Rather the grumpy one as well I see. I wouldn’t steam about it too much, most people here value their jobs more than the patients, but the ward is small so you’re bound to run into them if you stroll.” 

The doctor walks to Fareeha’s bedside to place a small com device by her head, “Helix Security has been calling nonstop ever since they found out you’d been admitted. Use this to call them when you’re up to it.” 

The woman walks to the edge of the room before Fareeha calls out.

“I never got your name.” 

There’s the smile again, something that felt neither warm, nor fake. A motion of twisted enjoyment.

“Dr.O’Deorain” 

\----

Fareeha picks up the com after she pulled herself from the sea of thoughts that had drowned her from the hours since Dr.O’Deorain’s visit. 

The name Angela Ziegler for one had stuck to her side like a thorn, but she just couldn’t recall who this woman was even though the name felt important. 

Probably was hella important, she contemplates as her focus comes back over her scarred, but mended body. Nanites weren’t a cheap course of study, and with results like this, she’d be shocked if this Angela was a nobody.

A heavy breath escapes Fareeha’s lips as she sinks back into the bed. Maybe Helix would have answers.

“Helix Security section 27. Identification code required.”

“Code 03-10-27-4M4R1. Do you want to know the forecast?”

“I'm by a window, looks like rain tonight. Please wait while I transfer you.”

There’s a soft clicking as the line transfers, Fareeha readjusts the com as a rough voice peaks on the other end. 

“Captain Amari, it’s good to see Saleh’s uncertain report about you perishing was false. Though we’d prefer if you’d work on coming back from our missions, shame if we were to lose our head of security.”

She smirks, “it’ll take a lot more than a few broken bones to take me down sir.” 

“Indeed. The medical facility you’re being housed at has sent us the physical they ran on you, and it has come to the board's decision to put you on medical leave for the next 6 weeks, and be readmitted for light duty once you've had a doctor give a full evaluation.”

Fareeha grips the thin sheets, “Sir, with all due respect-”

“Fareeha.” The voice on the other line sighs halfheartedly, the captain’s stubbornness was almost ledgary. “Take the time off, it’s a miracle you’re alive. Saleh and the few men that made it out of that . . . hell hole. . .they weren’t in the best shape.”

“From these reports, you honestly don’t sound to be much better.” A small shuffling can be heard as the man takes in a deep breath, “we’ll be sending you some paperwork to busy you, but until the council thinks otherwise.”

“I’m not allowed to come in for active duty.” Fareeha breathes in slowly as she pinches her thumb and forefinger across the bridge of her nose. Another obstacle, a fragment of the whole.

Saleh was alive at least, who else made it back. . . and from what. The questions burns on the woman's tongue, but year of practiced patience and knowing Helix’s own brand of stubbornness held the slue of words back.

Only a simple, “I copy.” is muttered as she looks distantly at the wall beside her.

“Captain, I know this is hard for you. With all the men you lost. . .I’m certain you want to get back out there, but you can’t push yourself.”

“I know. . .” Fareeha sets her hand down, “I know.” She shakes her head. Twitching as her hand gently rubs her side, “could you at least send me Saleh’s report? If you’re going to ground me, least let me have some light reading material.”

There’s a pause on the other line as the man debated his options, “Very well, we’ll send papers along with an airship unit in a few days. Until then, try and learn the meaning of rest and relaxation.” 

Fareeha let’s out a breath she’d barely noticed she’d been holding. “Thank you sir.”

\-- - - - --

Angela peers out the tall tinted window that showed a glimpse of the world outside the blandly colored walls she’d grow familiar with.

The view was as controlled as the hospital, what few trees peeked around in the small courtyard were trimmed with a strict precision, the flowers all matched a thought out pattern and what wasn’t covered with cement had a soft green glow to where the grass had claimed it.

While it was beautiful in it’s own right, it could only but hold a candle to the wild inspiration that her home land boasted. Just another reminder of the uncertainty of her location, the cloak and dagger of her situation, and the memories that buzzed around in an obscured fog.

“What good am I here?” She ponders quietly to herself, her eyes wandering the predictable landscape in search of an answer. None come, why would they? This place seemed to be void of answers, and yet full of questions.

“Is this seat taken?”

Angela’s head jerks away from the window and her thoughts to look at an omnic who’s silent approach was made obvious by them hovering just slightly above the inquired space.  
She shakes her head as she takes in their slightly ragged attire of oversized dust brown pants, a large necklace of detailed orbs and a string of prayer beads give a good assumption that they were probably apart of the hospital's chapel. 

“I sense that you are troubled.” Their voice, while the same calculated tone that many omnics shared, also held a soothing tenor that weaved in a way that whispered a strange sense of understanding.

“That obvious?” The doctor rubs her temples, at yet another question.

“I would think one would have a trouble of some kind or another to be in a place like this.” 

Angela huffs at the monk’s sarcasm. It was a welcome change to the strict routine she'd been restrained to while bed bound.

“Just a lot of questions no one's willing to answer.” She states simply her eyes drawn back to the stoic landscape.

“Are you certain it isn't the lack of knowledge that leads for their inability to answer?” The omnic inquires gently.

Angela shakes her head, “There are a lot if things that could be answered.” Like where she was. Where'd they transported her from. Or even the extent of the damage done.  
She'd checked the clipboard they'd left at the end of her bed earlier. The list had been hard to believe, but not impossible. 

From the notes it seemed that they hypothesized the biotic technology she was well known for was the base behind her rapid recovery. 

But . . .that couldn't be the case.

Those who had the nanites repair extreme life threatening damage would be severely malnourished as the nanites essentially instruct the body and it's resources into over time to save the person's life. And even then their life wasn't a 100% certainty. Hell it wasn’t even a good 8%. The recovery process after is just as tedious and demanding. Hence why this usage of her research was still in the primary stages, with only a few recorded human usages. 

Only a handful of even those few lasting much more than a month after the procedure had been performed. 

“Are you certain you wish to know the answers you seek? Move to quickly and you overlook much.”

The monk sighs deeply an action more of expression than function. It was a strange noise, like someone trying to breath deeply though a long metal pipe.

“You think that you walk through a fog Angela Ziegler, but there is a darkness entwined with your soul.”

Angela's turns sharply her heart pounds into her ears at the strange dark, almost threatening tone taken behind the monks words.

She hasn't given them her name.

She struggles to even find the faint shadow of the monk as the room almost fades into a strict reflection of twilight. The monk's face is obscured in the lengthened shadows.  
A sensation of dread drips through Angela's veins as more of the monk's words crackle into the air, having a presence all of their own. 

“If you are not the light to guide yourself through her maze.”

With each word the darkness of the room only grows, as if the their words alone stole the light.

_“You will perish.”_

 

“Ma'am? Are you alright?” Angela blinks painfully against the rugged white light that invades her conscious. Colors slowly adjust as reality comes to her, until she can finally focus on the person who'd disturbed her.

“Ma'am?” The woman repeats, her dark chocolate eyes sweep across the doctor's face. A gentle concern held in them as she glances around at the few others that'd gathered   
around them.

“You okay? You almost fell out of the chair.” The woman's tone while holding a sense of urgency, seemed to calm down as Angela moved to sit up.

“Where'd they go?”

She asks softly, her gaze cast down to the floor, staring into the tiles with a cold narrowing of her sky blue eyes. The woman beside her checks around the room again her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“They. . .”

The woman is cut off by one of the nurses who rushes her aside. 

“Dr.Ziegler. You've been alone since you came to the viewing area. Who are you pertaining to?”

Angela shakes her head looking back to the woman that the nurse had pushed away. They'd moved further back in the room, but shadows couldn't hide the burrowing gaze she had on Angela.

A ghostly familiar look. Like a faint reflection to the dark tattoo just under the woman's right eye. 

“Dr.Ziegler?”

Angela pulls a practiced neutral expression to her lips, “nothing.” Such a familiar response, no answers, no truths, impossibilities that linger. Nothing.  
But.

As the nurse helps Angela up, her eyes fall back on the woman in the corner of the room. She nods to her and receives a curt return of the expression. 

There was something written on the other's face, something that held no lies, only the simple tale of.

“I saw him too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more familair faces appear owo.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry that It's taken so long to update this! Started fulltime at my work, so finding the energy to continue the story has been a bit far and few between!
> 
> Thank you oh so much for those who left comments! They really helped motivate the small bursts I had in getting this chapter done! Hopefully Chapter 4 will come along much faster!
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy, and if you want, leave a comment! Thanks for your time!


	4. A reflection of madness a shadow of justice

Fareeha thumbs at the jagged flustered skin just above her sternum. It was the one thing that'd kept her attention for the last several hours since she'd met, if one could call it that, Dr.Angela Ziegler.

While their conversation had been just a fraction of a moment, there was little doubt in her mind that she was the other patient Dr.O’Deorain had alluded to. But the encounter had just led to more unanswerable questions. 

Like, who was that strange omnic, why had no one else seemed to notice their presence or the effect they had had on the doctor, or why they'd been so quick to drag her away.  
Other questions came to mind too, like if she'd been with her team during the mission that she could only vaguely recall, or just how she'd recovered so quickly from a list of injuries that she herself knew didn't just heal in under a week.

A small rap on her door pulls her from her thoughts. A nurse enters shortly after, oblivious to the Amari’s glare.

“Helix security has issued a release for you.” She states offhandedly as she notes down Fareeha’s vitals. “They've also sent you this,” the nurse places a small holovid on the desk beside her before dropping the clipboard she'd been using into it's plastic bin.

Fareeha says nothing as the nurse leaves, her attention already drawn to the small device they'd left.

Saleh’s report. 

Reaching over she picks up the small device and peels off a sticky note attached. 

**Special request: Please learn following material:**   
**“Rest, relax, and recovery.”**

The woman chuckles at the dry humor, sometimes it was easy to forget anyone in Helix’s staff, especially higher ups, had one.

Gently she taps the small machine prompting a pixelated screen to appear. It takes a few minutes of security screens and clearance checks before she actually reaches the document.

The woman’s finger hovers over the file containing Saleh’s report. What would she find in this? Could it help to recall what she'd lost?

She leans back staring at the file, her hand tracing the uneven scar absentmindedly. Listening to the numbing static that presses intuitively against her unanswerable questions. “If I can’t trust my memory, then why not one of my team.” Her words drop from her lips in a hollow form of encouragement, as she prompts the file open.

File report: 0276  
Mercenary - Code name Saleh

Date: 11/1/2XXX  
Location: Oasis, Iraq  
Informational extraction via verbal post mission questioning

A small audio file prompts as the document opens to the interview itself. Fareeha clips the small device to her ear and the familiar mercenary's voice crackles to life.

“I was asked to join as an emergency unit, to a helix corp. team who had answered a distress call from helix security’s district 493, prison #6. A gathering of local terrorist had over run the facility, taking the faculty, and several groups of civilians from the surrounding area prisoner. “  
“Under the leadership of Captain Fareeha Amari we reached the facility at 2000 local time.”  
“A small unit of soldiers from the nearby base had come to assist in the release of the captives, even bringing along several combat medics for additional aid. “  
“Captain Amari, while hesitant, accepted the help after some persuasion from one of the combat medics. Making our unit of around 20.”  
“We made it to the base, no problems, mind a few technical difficulties here and there.”

There’s a pause as the soft sound of movement can be heard over the recording, a muffled voice questions about Saleh’s condition, but is met with a muffled reassurance. 

“We were ambushed shortly after we entered the facility. . . by something of neither omnic. . . or. . . human origin.”

Another pause as the interviewer attempts to press anymore information on the creatures, but is met by a heavy minute of silence.

“The skirmish between our factions left the building weak,a cave in separated a large section of our force.”

Saleh continues, his voice wavering. The audio begins to clip as, assumably Saleh, begins to tap on the table nervously. 

“Those not crushed were instructed by the captain to find refuge away from the area.”  
“I was given the task to order an air strike upon the district at 0400 on 11/1/2XXX and to presume that the captain and any other forces had either been captured or killed.”  
“We heard no word from the separated faction in the hours following. I went through with Captain Amari’s order at 0401.”

“End report.”

The recording ends leaving Fareeha alone to silence as she skims through the report several more times, her heart pounding through every word. Hazy memories of voices, no clearer than a softly whispered echo clammer through the fog twisting the woman's stomach.

What did it all mean?

Well for one, her entire team was not deceased, but from the few pictures of the crater that was the remnants of prison #6 she could understand why Dr. Killjoy had assumed that such a fate had befallen her team. Yet that still left how she, and presumably, Dr.Ziegler, were found; what they were doing so close to Oasis (and why such out of date practices were being used next to the scientific capital of the world) considering the vast distance between Prison #6 and this hospital. 

Perhaps this was the reason for the cloak and dagger. Oasis, while proud of it’s achievements was questioned consistently by other scientific communities in the world for their rather experimental practices and general rash attitude towards the pursuit of science; particularly, the field of AI and robotics causing much concern to outsiders. But what of their medical progression? 

Dr. . . O’Deorian had mentioned Dr.Ziegler’s biotic usage of nanites that theoretically assisted in both her’s and the doctor’s recovery. To what end though? A shared illusion that deeply disturbed them both? And was it even her tec being used? It couldn’t be ruled out that the doctor’s technology hadn’t been modified, and that the two had been unwilling participants in some experiment that saved their lives?

The Amari rubs her temples as she tosses the report to the side, the small device clattering ungracefully onto the table next to her. Chasing conspiracy theories would do nothing for her, hell it did little for anyone accept add unneeded anxiety towards an already stressful situation.

Fareeha sighs slumping back into the bed, stricken by a sudden wave of fatigue, how long had it been since she last rested? Enough to make her question it and be unable to answer; then again it was easy to lose track of time when trapped by white, crushed by your thoughts and wounds that warent your stay.  
“Learn the meaning of relaxation.” She ponders sarcastically as she sinks into the hospitals cot, eyes already drawn as her mind calms to the idea of sleep. “Show me you can do your job efficiently when I’m gone, then maybe I’ll put it on my radar.” She quips to herself as her mind dips into a dizzy unconscious state.

\- - - -

The words come to her calmly, in a hushed tone meant for her alone. The world around her is lush, the damp sent of must and slight rot of a river floats lazily through the air as the gently buzz of locusts and frogs echo in a harmonious discorce.

Soft sun bleached sand brushes and pulls like a pulse underneath her feet, as the warm grasp of a gale pushes her forward, forcefully direct, like a parent guiding a stubborn child.

**“I wondered when we’d meet, Child of the Sky.”**

The woman turns against the gale, searching for the deep velvet voice that seemed to resonant from everywhere, but to her eyes, was no more present than the wind.

**“I am you. You are I. To find me, look to yourself.”**

Cryptic, but. . .Fareeha tilts her head, her steps already begin guided by the pulse of the sand, and push of the wind, until the pulse turns to the cool tug of the river.

**“Look to yourself. . “**

She repeats, pondering as she peers down to the obscured waves pulling against her legs. 

But what she finds, causes her to stumble back to the shore.

A distorted reflection. A familiar stranger of warm mocha skin, hair that had been kissed by the night sky and the smooth dark curving shape of an udjat just below their right eye. But the eyes had set them apart; deep brown had stared into the luminescent liquid gold of their mirror. Their shadow, a stranger whom they knew, but fell short of words to understand or even describe.

Fareeha pulls away from the water’s edge, stunned to silence. . . already questions of the familiarity pricked at her mind.

“This must be a dream. . . but. Why-” 

Her thoughts fall from her lips, a buzz of half conceptualized ideas one rarely mutters aloud. 

**“Does it hold a reality?”**

The velvet voice finishes. Fareeha grips at the ground, pulling the small fragmented stones and sands of the beach into her palms, attempting to convince herself that it was simply a construction of her mind. But her body stays frozen, as the reflection pulls itself from the soft river. That mocking reflection, her but not. 

**“You hold only confusion Child of the Sky.”** The reflection speaks in a soothing tone, almost as if a suggestion speaking in her mind. **“Many look to fear, I admire one of courage.”** The double tilts their head slightly, **“Or the foolery of not knowing when to be afraid.”** It muses almost playfully.  
Fareeha licks her lips looking for words, but only silence falls by just a wave of the stranger’s hand. 

**“Answers will come, and I’m certain a name is one.”**

She nods, unable to find her voice, as if the very breath was stolen by her shadowed double.

**“Many titles we’ve held in past memory, but, we believe one may strike you to the heart, for it is from the myths that your markings live by. Anubis. The guide, judge and guardian of the dead.”**

The reflection, Anubis, offers a hand to shake, as if this was just a casual meeting, one of little consequence or value. 

Fareeha leans forward hesitantly, pushed half by her curiosity, half by the very land that seemed to pull towards the being. She takes the offered appendage, it’s calloused and warm touch surprising her.

**“I am you.** You are me. **We are one Fareeha Amari.”**

\- - - - - -

Fareeha slumps forward blurrily recognizing the sterile light of her room. The vague memories of her dream lace themselves through her mind with an eerie abruptness.  
“What a strange dream.” She mumbles, smirking at how it reminded her of the old tales Reinhardt would recite when he'd run out of glorious escapades to talk her ear off about. Gods and mortals, fantastical ideals that faced a black and white premise. Things that could bring wonder even to the most aged soul.

“Saleh’s vagueness in his report and the oddity of all of this must be getting to me,” she mumbles as she rubs the bridge of her nose.

Fareeha sits on edge of her cot staring distantly at the wall, watching her shadow wax and wane through the pulse of the monitors. Something in her felt that her dream had been somehow real, but rational thought clashed, claw and fangs bared against such an idea. 

Grumbling softly Fareeha lifts herself from the cot, hissing slightly as the cast pinched her fingers. When would they remove that? She ponders bluntly, trying to escape the soft buzz in the back of her mind that refused to left the dream go. It wasn't as if she needed it, her arm was almost fully healed and it was more of a nuisance at this point than anything else. Just like the stitches and. . .wait.

Fareeha pauses as her fingers return to something she'd barely given a second thought to. 

The burn on her chest.

It was still inflamed, swollen, and compared to the recovery of everything else. . .it was slow to even admit to scarring. 

**“A mark to seal our fate.”**

Fareeha stiffens to the velvet voice of. . .it can't be. She shakes her head, reason attempting to stifle reality. Just still waking up. 

**“A splash of water to the face should fix it all?”**

The woman frowns at how the suggestion twisted in her mind, like a gentle reflection of her voice. It was unnerving, but a good idea. Cold water would help her wake up.  
Stumbling slightly on tired, weakened legs Fareeha eventually makes it down the hall and into the room marked for shower and lavatory use. Pressing on the door, she finds it to be vacant. A testament to the time of day it was and how few actually occupied this ward. 

Breathing out Fareeha crossed over to one of the sinks, the faucet flicks on as she fills her uncasted hand with a small splash of water. Flicking the puddle onto her face, she breathes out staring at the basin absentmindedly before refocusing and wiping the liquid from her face.

She peers at the reflection in the mirror. “You look like shit ‘Reeha.” She mumbles as she looked at her slightly unruly reflection. Her hair had grown a few inches and a cow lick on her right side made the already frenzied mess looked even more chaotic. Stitches, yet to be removed poked from her face, like unruly plants. The dark ink of her udjat fell under the shade of her bangs, an old reminder, but right now. . .The woman pulls at her ill fitting garb, the meaning of protection that this symbol represented, the people she couldn't even remember losing. 

The guilt was burned into her chest, a ragged sign of marred flesh.

**“Judge yourself too harshly for a reality you could never change, and you will find yourself a victim of a crime that never was.”**

Fareeha shakes her head at the sound of that velvet voice. What was this?

**“I am you. You are me. We are one Fareeha Amari.”**

Those words again, before she could stop herself, she looked to the mirror to find those same golden eyes staring back at her, the long ears of shadow flickering against the whitewashed wall.

_What?_

Fareeha rubs her eyes, finding the short obscurity to be another trick of the light, obscurity of the mind.

“I’m losing my mind in here.” 

_“Not quite”_

Pain blurs the woman’s sight as something slams into her back; a sickening crack pulses against her head and through her ears as her jaw is slammed into the basin by the unseen force.   
Fareeha grits her teeth as she already moves away from the basin, leaping to her feet in an unsteady stance as the room sways, giving testament to the force of the blow.  
“eugh”

Fareeha groans as she makes out a shape in front of her. Whatever it was looked vaguely human, but something about it seemed off. Proportions didn’t register as natural even to the sway of her vision. 

**“Right.”**

A command is screamed into Fareeha’s head as her body moves on it’s own accord away from an impossibly fast blow. The soldier struggles to focus as another pounding command surges through her head, but this time, neither the force, nor herself can bring her body to respond. A harsh jab to her chest throws her across the floor, stopping only when the momentum brought her to the wall.

Air and saliva burst from her mouth as it’s knocked away from her. She could already hear whatever this thing was approaching for a follow up, it’s steps unwavering at it’s advanance.

She struggles to push herself up, nausea already making itself known as her eyes lock on the being, watching as it appeared to slowly advance towards her and then skid off to her side, unmoving.

_“Surprise.”_

 

\-- - - - --

Blood, it’s taste drips from her lips, fills her lungs with it’s copper wash, warms her senses in it’s sickly embrace; and all she can do is stare as the body falls away from her. Whatever life it had contained was painted all over her frail form.

_“Surprise.”_

The words curl from her lips, even though her insides twist and turn.   
This was. . .is wrong.  
She wants to cry, scream, tear as this nightmare seemed to only press on. Out of her control, left to the madness of a force beyond.

\-- - - - --

Fareeha stares at the corpse of her assailant, already moving uneasily away, as sickly crimson liquid pools from the fractured skull that the new comer had inflicted. Her stomach was well on it’s way to relieving itself of contents as the room continues to sway drunkenly.

_“They draw to you like vultures in the desert sands.”_

Lavender eyes twist and waver as a cold hand presses abruptly onto Fareeha’s chest.

_“Sleep below the dry waves, whisper to the gods of old, I seek the companion, not the host.”_

The woman yearns to grab the appendage, pull it away before it too could do harm, but her body fails to hear her command. Staying as lifeless and static as it had done only days before. 

A strange sensation crawls from the point of contact, prickling under her flesh, clawing through her blood, but clearing away the sway of vertigo and soothing the pounding rhythm that banged through her head. Lavender eyes solidify into a pale face, one she could only just pick out the features to as fatigue pulled itself to the top of her mind. 

_“Shh. Let dreams take you, until judgement is done.”_

Fareeha works her jaw numbly trying to think of something, anything to state, but sleeps depths drown any words which laid heavy on her tongue.

\-- - - - --

_“You walked far too close to the line Jackal. Had that ghoul had just a second more time-”_

**“You didn’t take his soul Trickster?”**

The twisted shadow lingers besider it’s host. The long pointed ears twitching as it passively ignored the trickster’s burning glare.   
_“Gods be damned with this being’s soul! I’d much rather not risk having you lost because of some foolish risk!”_

There’s is a heavy sigh from the malformed shadow, it’s head tilted in a pondering gesture.

**“Your youth is envious Trickster. Your ignorance more so.”**

The Anubis moves towards it’s host, the black tendrils of shadow wrapping around Fareeha’s form, until they gentle pool into the charred skin just above her heart.   
A deep breath is pulled into Fareeha’s body as it’s moves to push itself away from the ground, bright luminescent iris’s blink away the woman’s deep brown abyss, replacing with the golden glow of a setting sun.

_“Ignorance? Your host was almost killed!”_

Anubis moves to the ghoul’s motionless form, barely phased by the Tricksters growing frustration.

**“We are a toxin to our host. Even now, asleep, when they are at their most susceptible to our will, their bodies hold a frail resistance to the purest form of our magicks that pulses through their veins. We offered our council so as she would not perish from the ghouls attack.”**

The Anubis turns back to the Trickster, observing the strained bruised veins that pulse from the casted arm they had used to strike the ghoul into the wall; a dark purple coloration already pulls on the tips of it’s fingers. The Tricker’s host’s eyes look sunken, deep bruises brushed under the bright velvet gems that stare accusingly.  
 **“Had we taken complete control, her body would have been unable to repair. For she would have indeed fought us for it’s control, and a struggle against our power would have shattered her very essence.”**

The Trickster pulls the bruised limb away from The Anubis’s judging glare, busying themselves with investigating the pool of blood that had splattered upon the nearby wall.  
 _“While perceptive of you to not devour the soul and have the chance of burning her body, you seemed to have forgotten that a spirit of kindness hosts you Trickster. They will not take kindly to the loss of life.”_

The Anubis warns softly as a gentle golden flame flows into their hand. Silver strands of smoke pull away from the dead creature's body as it solidifies into a cold white ball of smoke. The soul quivers under the Anubis’s touch before they lower it back onto the corpse, the flame consumes the rotten flesh burning it’s judgement until nothing more than wisps of smoke remain.

_“This will be nothing more to them than a dream when they wake.”_

The Trickster states calmly as they work pull their eyes away from the others work. They had begun to clean the stains of the changing purple blood that had splattered around the room; a frown perks on their lips as they moved to erase the small splot of bile as well.

_“And should they remember this, Anubis, well.”_ The Trickster’s lavender eyes stare into the cold suns of the Anubis's glare of stone, _“Then that should be her judgement to pass.”_

\-- - - - --

Angela grips her chest as she lunges forward in her cot. Sweat runs down her back, pressing the cheap hospital garb close to her skin as she realligns her vision with the numbing white of the walls, and rhythmic thrum of the machines that surround her.

The lingering sensation of blood pressed upon her senses, the memory of the fleeting pulse of joy weighed in each weezed breath. A nightmare that refused to pull away, her voice’s cold echos filling her mind. 

So much blood. What was-

“Ms.Ziegler?” 

Angela looks up, surprised by a hand pressed upon her chest and rubbing her back. A young looking nurse stared at her, genuine worry lining the man’s eyes. 

“Ms.Ziegler?”

The doctor pulls into herself. It was just a dream. . . just a dream. . .

_“Just a dream?”_

“Ms.Ziegler, do you need a doctor?”

Angela shakes her head, steeling herself to a compression of emotions that boiled into the mix of words she’d find few to of solace to confine in. Another nightmare, Angela presses her hands to her chest, cringing as the images presistad and the copper cent of blood lingered to her mind.

Just a dream. She repeats to herself, mentally blocking the river that had already begun to leak past her mental borders. She’d had dreams of a similar strands before, anxieties that would paint themselves into a threatening picture, drawing themselves out in her subconscious, threatening to break her waking mind.

But that was just all they were.

Dreams.

Angela gives the nurse a calm smile, a gesture of kindness as she slipped back behind a protective mask.

“I’m alright, just a bit of a night terror is all. However I would like to hear for the doctor, I feel the progression of my recovery should warrant my release soon.” Her smile fades as the man scampers off.

What kind of dream was that? It had felt like a panic attack, the increased pulse, the tightening almost breathless sensation pressing upon her chest, the mixed,irrational memories that seemed to be the reality that she had stepped into. Even though she knew it not to be the case.  
The doctor looks at her casted hand, a recollection of the times she had seen it covered in blood, be it to save a life, or to carry one who would never make it home, never had the context been to harm. To take another’s life, for no benefit-

_“Accept to show them your wrath”_

Angela tightens her fingers to the edge of her cast, they complain stiffly at the motion. Violence should never be the first answer, and yet in that very dream, it had come to her so easily. Latched upon her and took another’s life as if it had been nothing, as if she could simply forget each life she ever lost, each unique soul that would never be able to pass into a world without conflict, because conflict itself had taken the most precious thing that one could own.

“Violence is not the solution”

The words fall from her lips, challenging this pressing thought that clouded her mind. Questioning the merit of such an atrocious action and upon how it could ever be justified or right.

“Dr.Ziegler, you wished to consult me about you care?” 

Angela looked up to the doctor she’d come to be used to. He had the same laxed tone and stance, but his actions seemed stiff, uneasy at best, guilty at worst.

“I wish to be discharged.”

The man gives a stiff smile in return. _How fitting of a puppet._

“Ms.Ziegler, in my professional opinion you are in no-”

“ _In my professional opinion_ , I am clearly ready for discharge, I’ve been keeping track of my charts, and I am of a sound mind.” Angela growls out her argument, as a dark realization pricks at the back of her mind, she’d never been given a name to call the doctor by.

_A sound mind, ignorant to the most blatant threats._

“Very well Ms.Ziegler, I shall get the paperwork in order.” The doctor moves away from Angela, his obvious distress placed in each bound of his stride.   
Something was very wrong.

And she didn’t wish to wait to find out just what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouph ouph I say I'll update more often then 4 months later I come out with the next chapter - w-;;  
> Anywho, chapter 4 is finished! And the plot moves forward (finally) had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and it ended up a lot longer than I originally thought '^';;
> 
> Minor note, I did update Chapters 1-3 adding bold text for The Anubis and Italics for The Trickster 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Got any questions, comments or just critiques in general don't be afraid to leave it in the comments section down below! Have a great day!


End file.
